Shattered Vows: The Betrayed Wife Takes Revenge

Catalina opened her eyes. The harsh afternoon sun sliced through the blinds of the Los Angeles hospital room, sending a sharp spike of pain straight to the back of her skull. She blinked against the blinding light. The anesthesia from the surgery was still thick in her blood, making the ceiling tiles swim above her.

She tried to shift her weight. A violent tearing sensation ripped through her ribcage. She sucked in a sharp breath, her teeth clamping down on her lower lip to trap the groan in her throat. The memory of the Pacific Coast Highway crashed into her mind. The screeching tires. The shattering glass. The crushing impact.

She turned her head slowly, fighting the stiffness in her neck. She looked at the visitor chair beside her bed. She needed to see Broderick. She needed the reassurance of his face.

The chair was empty. A grey cashmere blanket was folded neatly over the armrest.

The door clicked open. A blonde nurse pushed a metal cart into the room, the rubber wheels squeaking against the linoleum. The nurse saw Catalina awake and immediately pressed the call button on the wall behind the bed.

"Where is my husband?" Catalina asked. Her voice was a dry, broken rasp.

The nurse adjusted the drip rate on the IV bag. "Mr. Ramos is resting in the VIP suite right next door. The hospital arranged it for him. It is too difficult for him to sit in his wheelchair for hours on end."

A heavy wave of guilt crashed into Catalina's chest. She closed her eyes. Broderick suffered from severe nerve damage and PTSD. He had been confined to that wheelchair for two years. And now, because of her accident, he was exhausting himself in a hospital.

"You need to stay in bed, Mrs. Ramos," the nurse said, checking the monitors. "Absolutely no walking. Your ribs need time to stabilize."

The nurse turned and left the room. The door clicked shut. The silence in the room felt suffocating. Catalina could not just lie there. The image of Broderick suffering alone next door gnawed at her stomach.

She reached over and pulled the pulse oximeter clip off her index finger. The machine began to emit a low, steady beep. She threw the heavy hospital blanket off her body. Cold sweat instantly broke out across her forehead.

She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. Her bare feet hit the freezing floor. A wave of dizziness hit her so hard her vision went black at the edges. She gripped the edge of the nightstand, her knuckles turning white as she waited for the room to stop spinning.

She grabbed the metal pole of her IV stand. She leaned her entire body weight against it and dragged her feet forward. Every step sent a fresh wave of agony radiating from her chest.

The hallway was completely empty. The low hum of the central air conditioning was the only sound.

She shuffled toward the door of the adjacent VIP suite. The heavy wooden door was not completely shut. A narrow gap remained, leaving a sliver of space to see inside.

Catalina reached out to push the door open, ready to apologize to her husband for making him worry.

A high-pitched, familiar laugh drifted through the gap.

Catalina froze. Her hand hovered an inch from the wood. That laugh belonged to Jami Meadows. Broderick's high school ex-girlfriend.

A sudden, icy dread wrapped around Catalina's heart. Her breathing stopped. She leaned closer to the crack in the door, her eyes finding the gap past the entryway wall.

Her entire world shattered.

Broderick was not in his wheelchair. The man who had been paralyzed for two years was standing perfectly straight in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. His legs were solid. His posture was flawless.

His arms were wrapped tightly around Jami's waist.

Jami rested her head against his chest. "When are you going to get rid of that boring, free nurse of yours?" she whined.

Broderick lowered his head and kissed Jami deeply. "Just be patient, Jami. Once the trust is settled, we won't have to pretend anymore," he chuckled, his voice low and conspiratorial. "At least this way, I get some peace. She practically worships me, and I do not have to share a bed with her."

Bile rose in the back of Catalina's throat. The hospital floor seemed to drop out from under her. Her lungs seized, refusing to take in oxygen. She slapped both hands over her mouth to choke back the scream tearing up her throat.

She stumbled backward. Her heel caught on the base of the IV pole. She caught her balance, her chest heaving, her stomach violently churning. She stumbled back to her room, every agonizing step fueled by pure, unadulterated adrenaline, the metal pole scraping loudly against the floor behind her. The pain in her ribs was blinding, but the burning betrayal in her chest overrode her physical agony as she forced her broken body forward.